


"Stress" Relief

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Multi, Vibrators, dammit fef, inappropriate usage of tables, tfw your boyfriend keeps leaving toys all over the damn place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: "I think," you say, "that I have an idea what this might be all about. Are you acting up because you've been feelingneglected, Captor?" From the way she snarls, you're fairly sure you've hit on the right answer





	

So maybe you had a bit of a temper. Listen, you were woman enough to admit it, even on the days that you really didn't _want_ to.

Those days, though, _those_ days, they tended to be the days that the anger fairly rolled off of you in waves. You didn't need to admit it, those days.

 

And Captor, for all that you loved her dear enough to put that to paper and ring some day soonest, seemed to enjoy using those days _best_ to _test_ you. It was enough to make even a mild-mannered lass blow her stack, and honestly, if there was a term to describe you less, you'd be fuckin' _astounded_.

 

"Captor," you say, voice pleasant and even, for all that you've got her arm pinned behind her back, her body bent in half, and her face shoved against the table, "would you care to repeat yourself?" "Pretty sure you heard me the first time, _Ampora_ ," she replies, as flippant as if you're asking her to tea. You've never quite understood the cliché "seeing red". Even through your many, _many_ , experiences with anger. You think you might get it now.

 

Her wrists are thin enough that when you yank her other arm behind her back, you can pin the both of them down one-handed, easy as easy. Captor twists under you, insisting that you do all manner of obscene things—you tune her out—and when her hips buck, trying to lever you off, you _press_ them back down against the table.

She subsides, flustered, and you use your free hand to _tug_ her sweatpants down. There's a damp spot on her underwear, and it makes you fucking _smug_ —even more so when she _whines_ as you stroke over it, tracing the furthest edges of it, the perfect center.

"I think," you say, "that I have an idea what this might be all about. Are you acting up because you've been feeling _neglected_ , Captor?" From the way she _snarls_ , you're fairly sure you've hit on the right answer, and you feel a slight twinge of guilt—you've been busy, really, and that's not your _fault_ but it's always been so hard to balance—"Right, then. Let's see if we can't fix that, hmm?"

 

She goes dead still when you slip her underwear off, but her breathing's ragged, and the first stroke over her slit has her jerking, in a rather familiar way—she's trying not to make a single noise, and you're half-worried she'll bite clean through her lip in the process. Then she shifts enough to shoot a cool look at you. "Considering what your mind immediately jumped to, I'm starting to wonder if _I'm_ actually the one who's been feeling _neglected._ " Oh, that _bitch_.

 

You _shove_ a finger inside of her, and you're rewarded with a strangled sort of noise, as Captor promptly _twists_ under you. "You were _saying_?" you ask her, and don't give her a chance to respond, curling your finger up inside her, the way that always makes her seem to _squirm._ Then you twist your hand, and her knees look likely to give out, which is only _more_ incentive to push a second into her—she's always liked things in twos, hasn't she—and spread her proper, make her _really_ feel the ache of having you _furious_.

If it weren't for the way her breaths catch every time you so much as twitched what you've got inside her, you'd be worried. But gods, she gets off on getting this as much as you do on _giving_ this, and when you pull your fingers out she fucking _whines_.

It goes straight to the ache between your thighs and you laugh just to piss her off _further._

 

 

"Don't worry, sweetness," you tell her, switching your grip—she can feel her own slick on her wrists—as you manage to undo your uniform tie one-handed. "I'm not done with you _yet_."

She goes still for you again, wary and waiting, like she doesn't quite trust whatever you have in mind. Good. " _Good_ girl," and your voice is near enough to a caress that it makes her shudder.

The tie goes over-around her forearms, and you spare a moment of gratitude to your past self for having picked the one that you'd been planning to throw out anyway. Her slick makes a lovely sort of stain on it, though, and you decide to keep it for the _next_ time she pulls this kind of shit. Sometimes you have to teach her a lesson _twice_ to make it stick, and sometimes she comes begging back for _more_ of the same.

 

Fef's a fuckin' heathen at the best of times, and...if _pressed_ , you'll admit to not minding all that much. Maybe even _encouraging_ it, just a bit. That said, it's fairly _easy_ to find something ridiculously pink that buzzes better than a flip phone. You try not to be hideously smug, and fucking _fail._

Sol tensed the fuck up at the sound of it, and you hum to yourself, _almost_ in tune with the toy, as you gently tug her shirt up and drag it down along her spine. Her spine straights the fuck out, and she bites down enough to bleed. "Ah, ah," you chide her, shifting around the table and tilting her chin up. She's near tall enough to lay full across the width of it, and when you're not bitching about the height difference, you _like_ it. "Need to be more careful, sweetness. I don't want you wearin' any marks that I didn't put there _myself._ "

When you lean in to kiss her, she fucking melts—and when you pull back, there's a whine, and your lips are stained just a bit red. "Shhh. Good girl, there's a love."

You shift back around the table, and she's panting, soft and sweet, noises that would usually make you pounce. Right now, though, right _now_ , you're bound and determined to put her through _hell_ before you ease her into heaven. She's going to scream for you, she is.

 

The toy slips up the sides of her thighs, humming as it goes, and she strangles off a cry, half-lifting off the table. "Did I say you could do that, Captor? I don't rightly recall that I did."

"Fffffuck you," she manages, and you tsk—and plant a hand between her shoulder blades, _slowly_ pressing her back down.

"You move as I say," you inform her, the toy buzzing so close to her clit she can most likely _feel_ it, "you make the noises _I_ want to hear, and you do _not_ disobey me. Understood?"

"Go fuck yourself," is her reply, and _gods_ have you been expecting it—waiting for it, _wanting_ it, and you nearly _purr_ as you press the toy up against her clit, clicking it up to full power.

 

She _screams_ for you, and it's a right fuckin' thing of beauty, the way her body tries to bend like a bow, held fast and tight by nothing more than the weight of your hand. When you drag a slow line up off of her clit, barely splitting apart her folds, she twists under you, trying to press down, trying to pull away, like she doesn't know exactly what she wants.

That's fairly true to the course, and really, you've never minded helping her work it out. Altruism is a _beautiful_ fucking thing, especially when it means you can _shove_ the toy right into her and _hold_ it there with the heel of your hand. Barely two inches in, and she's crying out like you've _impaled_ her. Another press pushes it a touch further, and she lets out a gasping sort of sob, her whole body shaking—gods, if you'd known that she'd get worked up this fast, you would've taken her over a table a _week_ ago.

 

"There's a girl," you murmur, hand shifting from pinning to petting, running over her side, her hair, soothing little touches. "Come on, lovely, you sound so fuckin' _good_ for me," and she does, she _really_ does, good enough that you can't fucking _help_ yourself as you press it the rest of the way in and _hold_ , hold long enough that she bucks against it, and _twist_ –

 

You'd bet all the money in the world that she'd played with herself before you got here. That she'd been _waiting_ for you to come home. That she'd _wanted_ this, had riled you up all a'purpose to get this sort of outcome.

 

The way she falls to _pieces_ is practically _made_ to prove you right.

 

Usually she's quiet, soft gasps, sharp whines, barely a noise past that. Tonight, she fucking _sings_ for you, and you pull and push on the toy, milking her high for as much as you can get of it, pleased with every little reaction she gives. "Good girl, you're _so_ good, you're so good–"

 

When she finally goes limp, spent and sated, you stroke a hand over her hair, and she makes a soft noise at you. "Shhh," you tell her, and she turns her head enough to try biting your hand. "Ow, _fuck_ –" you say, just to humor her, and she huffs. "C'mon, sweetness. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Ffffuck you," she mutters in reply, and you laugh, flicking the toy off and tugging it out before you start undoing the knots. "You're an  _asshole_ ," she informs you, wincing slightly as you gather her into your arms.

"Yeah, yeah," you tell her, kissing her forehead. "I know."

 

So maybe you have a bit of a temper. But  _damn_  if you don't know a few good ways to blow off that steam.

**Author's Note:**

> listen you can pry erifefsol from my cold dead hands and also blame my nerdass friend for putting this idea into my head


End file.
